Unexpected Changes
by Widom
Summary: A well-known Dark-Hunter makes the mistake of falling in love with a god's prized slave. Summary stinks, I know. Rated R for future lemons and rape hints.
1. Chapter 1

**Unexpected Changes**

**Chapter 1**

It was a cool, calm night. _Unusual_, thought the tall, dark man. It seemed unfitting for the weather, or anything, really, to ever be peaceful around Morsus' temple. It was the sort of weather that young lovers took strolls in, and children laughed and played. The sort of night where is seemed almost impossible for darkness and the slightly-less normal creatures of the night to roam. It was odd that the night was so clear, he decided, especially since, in the one and a half hours he had been in the structure of fine-looking white marble pleading his cause, he had clearly pictured himself dying by the god's hands at least ten times. It would have only been fitting if lightning was flashing, and rain was coming down in a waterfall throughout the entire island, or, even better, fatal sunlight was streaming through the windows, burning his flesh like a deadly poison. Ah, yes, that would have been much more fitting in his opinion. Even so, he continued speaking in a calm, slightly-disrespectful voice that he had used many times, appearing confident and cold while his heart beat steadily in his chest, well aware that the god could sense any increase in the speed of his blood, and would kill him for showing fear without a second thought.

_Acheron, _he thought wirily, _is a fool if he thinks Morsus will help us._

When he had finished his account of the situation, the god said nothing. Although he knew it was disrespectful, the man spoke. "So, will you assist us? It would make winning this war so much simpler, and we would ask nothing more of you." The tall, raven-haired man asked quietly. Personally, he didn't care whether the Dark-Hunters won or lost the war between them and the Daimons; he simply wanted to sleep the sleep of his almost-human race and let the cool nothingness heal the wounds his brother had given him. Ha, some brother of his. He had known all his life that they were related; their appearances were nearly identical. However, his older brother had denied him their families name till his death, and, it appeared, well into their second chance at life as well. Becoming a Dark-Hunter had been the best, and perhaps the worst, thing that had ever happened to him.

The thin blond god laughed. There was true amusement gleaming in his nearly-clear blue eyes, along with the subtle malice that always shown when a god or goddess looked at him. He was used to it; in fact, he preferred it to open warmth. You didn't be a Roman whipping boy your entire natural life without developing a healthy sense of suspicion for anyone who looked at you without hatred.

"My dear Roman-"

"Greek," he corrected automatically. Although he was technically half-Greek, half-Roman, he clung to his Greek heritage like a drowning man after rope. Call him any number of names, but, by all the gods he knew, don't call him a Roman.

The Atlantian spider god still smiled, and he clicked one of his many legs on the smooth white-marble floor. As anyone would expect, the light tap by an over eight-foot long spider leg took a healthy chunk of marble from the floor, but the raven-haired man ignored the occurrence as if it never happened. One false move, he knew, and he'd have a lot more to worry about than not finding an additional warrior for their cause. It was perhaps the only reason he had been chosen to partake in this particular assignment. The endless patience that he had acquired as a slave, and, if necessary, his endless tolerance for pain, were qualities that had made him the only candidate suited to dealing with the temperamental arachnid god.

"My dear Greek, while I can see that your commander is a bit desperate to come to me, a creature who has hated him sense birth, your patience with my continual chatter and threats had given me a reason to assist you."

"You will fight then?" He was surprised, to say the least. He could only sigh his acceptance when the god shook his head, a smile on his lips.

"Of course I cannot. While eleven thousand years is a long time to hold a grudge, I very much fear that my hatred for the man is alive and well. However, I will assist you in telling a good personal friend of mine to aid you in your little war. His name is Reses, and, considering he owes me a favor or two, I'm sure he will be all to happy to lend a hand."

"And if this Reses turns out to be an assassin of sorts after my not-so-appreciated commander?"

He laughed again, but this time it was cold and chilling. If he had been a normal man, he would have backed off, taken back his comment. Fortunately, worrying about being "normal" had never been a problem. Besides, he couldn't, in good conscience, allow an unknown person near his commander. Although he didn't particularly like Acheron, the tall blond Dark-Hunter leader, he respected him for his courage, and felt for him for the few long weeks he had spent as a slave, and Acheron felt for him as well. In a sense, they had reached an understanding, avoid each other if possible, but help each other if necessary simply because of the past experiences they shared. Ironically, over the last two thousand years, their feeble attempt at friendship had lasted, until they realized that each was the only friend the other had.

"Suspicious, little Dark-Hunter?" asked the god as he rose from his reclined position into his full height. At well over twelve feet tall, the spider was an almost over-powering force, and he should have been terrified. He wasn't, and stared back at him calmly.

"Always," he replied, and was unsurprised when he felt himself thrown back onto the cold, smooth floor, his already injured body hitting the marble with a sharp crack. He resisted the strong urge to groan as pain swept through him, and he resisted the even stronger urge to lay on the floor for a while as he stood, brushed himself off, and returned to his former position in front of the spider, looking remarkably unfazed.

The spider-god looked at him thoughtfully, before he grinned and relaxed once more.

"You bounce back quickly, Dark-Hunter. I'm impressed. And, in answer to your earlier question, no, he would not be a paid assassin. I hate Acheron too much to allow another person to kill him."

In a strange way, the spider's reasoning pacified him.

"As to finding Reses, you need only to go to the airport. I will have him be there tomorrow, and you may have his services until you feel fit to send him back. Notice I say you, Dark-Hunter. He will not obey Acheron unless you tell him to."

"Fair enough," he replied, and was about to leave when a thought occurred to him.

"What does this 'Reses' look like?"

The spider grinned at him.

"Reses is…unique. You will know when you see him."

_Be here my ass_, Zarek thought unhappily. He had been at the New Orleans's airport for nearly six straight hours, and the "unique" warrior had not made an appearance. He really, truly, had no idea what "unique" meant anyway. By human standards, as Zarek once had been, he assumed that he would look something like the young man with the neon blue hair. Of course, he had already asked him if he was Reses, and had received many a frightened looks, since he had not bother to hide his fangs at the time. Of course, considering that a giant blond spider had called him "unique" might change the meaning entirely. He sighed, and contemplated leaving, when something caught his eye.

He frowned. No, not something, he corrected, but _someone._ The man he had caught only a glimpse of through the Mardi Gras crowd had been searching for someone, and, while he had been wrapped in a large coat, hat, sunglasses, and had been carrying a perfectly normal black duffel bag, he had seemed strangely aloof from a distance. Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed himself off the wall and strode through the crowd in the direction he had seen the man. It didn't take him long to find him again, and it was with a sigh that he found himself tapping on his shoulder of the slightly smaller man. _I'm probably wasting my time,_ he thought to himself. Then the man turned, and he knew he wasn't.

"Are you him, then?" asked the man, in a smooth, cultured voice, completely devoid of emotion.

"That depends. Are you Reses?" Zarek asked, and he reminded himself not to stare. Although the man hid most of his appearance, Zarek saw the single lock of silver-white hair that dared to escape his bulging hat, and the unnatural glint of ocher eyes behind dark lenses. Even though the man was only about two inches shorter than his own six-foot-six frame, he could safely say that, had he not been covered almost completely by dark clothing, he wouldn't have thought he was a man at all, but instead a rather tall young woman. He was, quite simply, the most beautiful creature that Zarek had ever laid eyes upon. Far more beautiful than any woman he had met ever could be._ Strange,_ he thought. He had never found another man attractive before, and had viewed them only as competition.

"Yes," answered the man with a slight smile, "I am. Zarek, then?"

"Yes," he replied and, because he was curious, asked another question. "Why are you wearing so much clothing? Is there a problem with the weather?"

Again, the man smiled thinly.

"I have found before that my appearance attracts unwanted attention. While this does not bother me, per say, it has been known to bother my masters before."

The way he phrased it caused Zarek to bristle. More over, he picked up the slight hint of resentment in his voice, and it disturbed him. He hated to think of himself as owning another living creature, especially because he himself had once been treated as a possession too many times before.

"Well, rest assured that I do not care how you look, and I certainly do not want you feeling like I am your master. I am not, I am merely a fellow warrior."

"Of course," said Reses, and, although he knew the Greek could not see it, he looked at him oddly behind his lenses. His "fellow warrior" he had said. This was new to Reses, and he wondered how long it would last. None of his other masters had ever viewed him as a person, with feelings, before. Even while he reminded himself not to get used to the change in his masters' outlook , as it was sure to change, if not with this one than with the next, he felt a rush of gratefulness to the dark-haired Greek for giving him permission to shed his unwanted garments. Morsus, while he had been as kind to him as his "Black Widower" personality would permit, had always insisted on Reses hiding his appearance from prying eyes. It was a relief to finally be rid of the scratchy wool garments for once, and feel the cool wind on his face. He did not remove his sunglasses, however, as it would lose him the advantage of studying his "fellow warrior" without his knowledge. In his mind, he stored away his composed appearance, the hard eyes and dark hair, and, although it surprised him somewhat, he noticed that the Greek was more attractive than was average for his masters. While appearance had no relevance to how kind they were or were not, it was also a relief to know that, should he be forced to be sexually active with his master, as was usually the result of a week or two in their presence, at least this one was good-looking. He glanced at him again. It appeared that the Greek, for whatever reason, was remaining silent, which was also new. Many found out as much as possible about him, as soon as possible. While this should not have been surprising, given Morsus' description of him, he had been a little vague on the details, and Reses did not know what exactly this Greek/Roman Dark-Hunter with the smart mouth had done to earn Morsus' esteem. While Reses was curious, to say the least, he was still painfully aware that he was little more than an upper-class slave, so he kept silent.

As they exited the building, Zarek frowned. This new addition to Acheron's army wasn't very talkative, and he didn't know whether to be grateful or affronted that he had decided not to "speak until spoken to," as was a slave's custom. Finally, he decided simply to be annoyed. Although he knew it shouldn't bother him that he was still being looked at as "the master," it did. Tremendously.

When they reached the shiny black Honda he had recently learned to drive, he was all but boiling with something akin to anger. As he opened the trunk, and reached for the small black bag Reses was carrying, he forced himself to relax. He was over-reacting to something understandable: had it been him when he was still a slave, he probably would have been acting the same.

"You know," he said slowly as he stored the bag near the spare, composed as much as he was able to be at the moment. "You can speak without being spoken to. I meant it when I said that you shouldn't view me as any sort of ruler."

"Can I?" asked Reses from somewhere above him, and he looked up at him. His silver hair had been uncovered, and flowed past his shoulders, ending just below his lower back. He hadn't removed his sunglasses, but, again, he didn't need to for Zarek to see the golden glow to his eyes. Although his face was completely devoid of expression, he sensed the hesitant hope that he was trying hard to hide. Whatever Reses had been before, he hadn't been a slave his entire life if he still felt hope.

"Of course," he said brightly, or as brightly as he was capable of, as he closed the trunk. He was just about to enter the driver's side when he paused, looking at Reses.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to drive a car, would you? I'm not quite as good at it as most people."

"_What?_"exclaimed Reses, and, for the first time, Zarek saw a hint of emotion of his face as he gripped the arm rest: fear. Normally, being a sadistic bastard, he would have laughed, but this time he simply sighed, since he doubted laughing at him would make him more comfortable. For all he knew, he might do something foolish, like leap out of the car.

"I'm not that bad. Relax, Reses," he said as he closed his door. Almost instantly, he relaxed.

Zarek sighed irritably.

"That wasn't an order."

"I am aware of that. If you were really that bad, you wouldn't be driving at all."

Zarek almost smiled, but refrained. _Well, he's certainly a quick study. _It was a relief not to have to worry about his intelligence when he was guarding his back in battle. Of course, if Reses still viewed him as the master, he may just stab him and be done with it, as Zarek himself had been tempted to do more than once to his own masters. He had best remember that: no matter how Zarek wanted to feel compassion, too much compassion turned into trust, and he couldn't afford to trust.

They had been driving several minutes in silence when Reses spoke, softly, and cautiously.

"Where have you been, Dark-Hunter, that you can not drive well?"

"I've been in Alaska for nearly 900 years. The only vehicles we use there are snowmobiles."

"Ah. You were banished?"

For a moment, it seemed he would not respond, and Reses almost decided to stop talking when Zarek, as Reses had begun to think of him, answered in a quiet, thoughtful voice.

"Yes. A bit mild for punishment, perhaps." That piqued Reses' curiosity. "Oh? What did you do?"

The look Zarek sent him was tight, and humorless.

"Nothing of any import. Do not concern yourself with my flaws or mistakes."

Okay, he had definitely struck a nerve there. Not knowing what else to say, he fell silent, and stared out the window at the various buildings and naïve passerby.

Zarek sighed inwardly when Reses fell silent. He hadn't been surprised when the obviously lonely slave had begun to speak to him, slowly and hesitantly. When he had first began his second life, he had wanted to talk to anything, to anyone, who would listen. The freedom to do whatever he wanted, say whatever he wanted, without fear, had been a fabulous new sensation. And while the need to talk had dimmed considerably, he could still remember what it had felt like to be given that freedom.

It just figured that he would squish the man's first attempts at being open. He sighed loudly, and drove silently through the streets of New Orleans. Although he was used to silence, it bothered him that Reses could so easily slide into a seemingly uncaring calmness that Zarek had never quite achieved.

"I-" he paused, and knew the instant when Reses looked at him, even as he concentrated on driving the large, metal beast through the crowded Mardi Gras streets. He couldn't explain it, but it felt as though a bolt of lightening went up his spine every time Reses looked at him.

"I failed to protect my village from a blood-thirsty creature who tore them to shreds." He said, guilt still ripping at him. When Reses excepted his tale with a nod and turned away, Zarek could only sigh. He did not know why he had felt compelled to tell him this, but he could only be thankful that he had not told him the entire truth. It was worse, much worse than he had said to Reses, and he would never forget the look of horror on their faces. He had failed to protect his village from a creature; yes that was true.

He had failed to mention, however, that that creature, had, in all likelihood, been him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When the little Honda finally arrived at the dark alleyway Acheron had designated as "the meeting place," sunlight was beginning to bleed across the horizon. Knowing his time was short now that the first rays of morning had arrived, he quickly hurried out of the car and opened the trunk.

"What is the hurry, Greek?"

Startled, Zarek looked over his shoulder. He hadn't known that Reses had gotten out to check on him, and was surprised. Few people cared about what he did in his spare time, but, since his spare time now involved Reses, he supposed it was only natural for him to be concerned. Even so, he couldn't quite still the rush of…well, hell if he knew. He would have called it happiness, or perhaps gratefulness, except Zarek was unfamiliar with both.

Suddenly, what the silver-haired man asked sank in.

"What do you mean? It is fast approaching daylight, and I must be indoors soon." He stopped long enough in his task of wrestling the duffel from the trunk long enough to stare at Reses.

"Why?"

Zarek looked at him disbelievingly. "I'm a Dark-Hunter. Sunlight is fatal to all of us, because we no longer have souls. Didn't Morsus tell you what I was?"

Reses shook his head, and a few wisps of silver gleamed in the early morning sunbeams, and, even though he told himself it was irrelevant, Zarek marveled at how attractive Reses was.

"He said you were a Dark-Hunter who slays Daimons, but I did not know what a Dark-Hunter was. Besides," his voice turned bitter, "Morsus rarely tells me anything about the people I am to serve. He thinks that warning me of what kind of beings they are would be…giving me an unfair advantage, so to speak."

For a moment, Zarek felt a flash of annoyance at the spider-god. _Stupid, self-important bug._ He knew that slaves rarely learned about their future masters: he certainly hadn't when he was younger. But the idea that Reses, someone who Zarek had known less than an hour, was thrown into situations without any knowledge to prepare himself with roused his sense of indignation enough that he felt his expression change, if only slightly. Still, he was surprised when Reses noticed.

"What is the matter?"

Zarek took a deep breath and was about to respond when a young man stepped out of the shadows. Even from the other end of the alley, Zarek saw the sleek black ponytail, and the shiny nose ring. He sighed. Acheron must have gotten a new piercing, and died his hair again. He seemed to do that a lot, but Zarek didn't have a clue why.

"Zarek," Acheron greeted as he came closer, moving around the few soiled newspapers and tin cans with his usual grace. He stopped a few feet away, and smiled at Zarek, his smile, as usual, not quite reaching his mercury-colored eyes. He turned his head slightly and noticed Reses. He rose one eyebrow, and spoke softly, the accent he had acquired in Atlantis making his voice slightly clipped.

"I was expecting Morsus, or no one at all. I'm afraid I do not know who you are."

Once again, Reses was back to smiling politely. Zarek sighed inwardly as he once again felt Reses establish the cool distance he had had when Zarek had first met him. Over the last hour, he had relaxed considerably, but now he was back to standing stiffly, with his hands behind his back.

"I assume you are Acheron of Atlantis. I am Reses. I am…an acquaintance of Morsus."

"Acquaintance?" Acheron asked coldly, and Zarek was surprised by the distaste in his tone. He had never, in the many years he had known him, seen Acheron attack someone without reason. It puzzled him to see it now, and almost told Reses not to answer when he remembered who he was dealing with. He could no sooner silence his commander than he could have done it to Morsus. He may consider himself on an almost friendly basis with the Atlantian, but he doubted he would be able to get away with telling him to mind his goddamn business. Resignedly, he stayed silent.

"Yes, I am a slave, if that is what you were implying." Reses replied serenely, almost sweetly. He was clearly used to people judging him to be a low being, barely worth the dirt on the ground.

"Actually, it wasn't," said Acheron quietly, as he turned his face away, but not before Zarek saw his cheeks heat. Evidently, he was embarrassed by his questions, which was more fitting to the man he knew. However, instead of feeling his usual cautious compassion, he felt his jaw tighten, and he couldn't explain the anger he was beginning to feel.

When the Atlantian looked back at them, he seemed to have regained his composure. He cleared his throat, and looked at Zarek. He seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but, try as he might, he couldn't. He rarely lost his temper, but he knew that if he opened his mouth, he'd say something he would regret, caused by the anger he couldn't explain and didn't want to examine. Acheron smiled at him, seeming to understand.

"It's all right, Zarek. I wasn't attacking him."

With effort, Zarek was finally able to speak with his usual emotionless voice.

"I didn't think you were."

A lie, to be sure, but nothing major. He was good at telling them, and, besides, Zarek was a born liar. His entire life was made of lies, and he wallowed in them. Further more, had he actually expressed concern over Acheron's emotional assault, he could only imagine the look Reses would be giving him, instead of the politely confused one he wore now. Life was difficult enough to survive without having people openly trusting or depending on him. _Besides,_ he thought violently, _it's easier on people when they're let down if they're expecting it. _The gods knew he should have expected it when he was younger.

The Atlantian smiled at him again.

"I'm sure. Zarek, if you don't get going, you won't make it to your shelter before sunrise." He must have seen the look Zarek shot at Reses' back, because he continued in the same blank voice, only there was a rare underlying hint of amusement in his voice.

"Don't worry. In a few hours, once I have discussed the situation with Reses, then I will drop him off at your house."

Zarek was in the middle of tilting his head respectfully, or as close as he could to being respectful, at the Atlantian, when his head snapped up in surprise.

"He's staying with _me_?" Zarek asked, astonished. The Atlantian always made certain that nobody stayed in the same area as Zarek when he slept, because it was when his nightmares came, and he couldn't control his anger, or his powers. It had always been a fear of Acheron's that Zarek might accidentally hurt someone in his sleep, and, truth be told, secretly, it was one of Zarek's as well. He might be an asshole, and a bastard, but that didn't mean he wanted some random innocent being hurt. Acheron must be out of his mind.

"Yes, actually. Since you seemed to show such-" he paused, and Zarek got the distinct feeling Acheron was laughing at him. Zarek glared at him, baring his teeth. Acheron continued without blinking.

"-such _concern_ for his welfare, it seems only fitting that you watch over him."

Zarek was about to snap at the Atlantian for his foolishness, when Reses beat him to it.

"I beg your pardon. I do not need 'watching over.' You are foolish if you think otherwise," he said, his tone icy and his ocher eyes flashing. For once, Reses didn't look fragile, and Zarek was reminded of what the spider had said. _Reses is unique…_ Perhaps Zarek had been too soon to think Reses was simply a "pretty boy."

Acheron rose an eyebrow at Reses, and grinned at Zarek, looking for all the world as if he knew something they didn't.

"Of course you don't. I doubt Morsus would have sent you if you did need protected, since it seems to me that he would be quite…fond of someone like you."

_What the hell does that mean? _Zarek thought, sensing an insult but not seeing where.

"However, it is not your prowess in battle I doubt. Daimons aren't the only enemy you may acquire while in New Orleans."

"Acheron, will you stop playing word games and get to the point. If you have one." Zarek hissed, his patience having run out. He knew of the Atlantian's liking for being mysterious, and, normally, accepted it as coming with being a former slave. He himself was also unnaturally silent about his past and his thoughts on occasion. However, now it was getting on his nerves.

"Zarek," he said with a sigh, "you yourself know that others of our kind tend to view newcomers with hostility. Especially Romans," he said pointedly, and Zarek nodded as understanding dawned on him. There was no doubt in his mind that Valerius, and other ignorant prats like him, wouldn't like someone more attractive than them, which Reses definitely was, anywhere near them. Besides, if what the spider-god had to say had any inkling of truth in it, Reses was to follow Zarek's orders, so it only made sense that they be near one another. It was perfectly logical, and understandable. However, Zarek still couldn't shake the feeling that it was a very, _very _bad idea for Reses to stay with him.

"Fine," he snapped. "But I still don't like it," he finished, and turned, heading towards his car before any of them could say another word.

Reses shook his head, watching almost in shock as the tall Greek stormed away. Well, that was odd. That had to be the first time anyone had ever objected to staying in the same abode with him. Normally, they didn't let him out of their site for more than a few minutes at a time. It was, he decided, fairly refreshing for someone not to want him around. He wondered how long it would last.

He glanced at the giant Atlantian to his side, and noticed that he was also watching him. The devil incarnate, Morsus had called him. Reses, who tended to disagree with almost everything Morsus said, found himself believing the spider god. For whatever reason, Acheron had hated him on site, and hadn't hesitated to show it. While it confused him, he was smart enough not to show it, and they stared at each other for several seconds in silence. Finally, Acheron looked away, and cleared his throat.

"Well," he said, looking at his hands.

"Yes. Well," Reses replied, still looking at the Atlantian who refused to meet his eyes.

"Do you have anything else insulting you want to say? Don't hesitate. Come out and say it," he said with a sigh.

"I don't know what you mean," Acheron answered, his silvery eyes finally looking down at him, completely blank. Whatever he saw there must have made him realize that lies weren't helping the situation, and one side of his mouth twisted up in a grim smile.

"Very well. I'll admit that I reacted…deplorably when I met you, much to, I believe, Zarek's dismay. I wasn't expecting…Never mind," he paused, and his eyes showed embarrassment.

Reses gave a thin smile. This was the sort of reaction he had expected from Zarek. Maybe the man was being honest when he said he saw Reses only as a fellow warrior. Hmmm…what a surprising creature this Greek was turning out to be.

"No, by all means, finish." When he remained silent, Reses gave a cold laugh. "You were either going to say 'slave' or 'pretty boy,' I'm not sure which." At the Atlantian's look of surprise, he continued. "It's alright. I am used to this reaction in one form or another."

"Did Zarek react that way?" Acheron asked nonchalantly, suddenly very interested in the gravel on the ground.

Reses frowned, wondering why it mattered to him. But then, the man was Zarek's commander.

"No. He was very…polite, and well…nice, I suppose."

Acheron laughed richly, his body shaking with mirth, as though laughing at an inside joke.

"I'll bet he was. Never mind. What I was trying to say was that, since you are now an associate of Zarek's, as his commander, I shouldn't have been so rude. I thought you were Morsus' lover," he blurted out, then continued quietly. "And, since I don't like Morsus, I naturally wouldn't like anyone he cared for. As I said before, I apologize."

"I accept your apology, as that assumption has been made before." _And it's not too far from the truth,_ he thought drolly. Of course, he was hesitant to tell the dark-haired Atlantian that.

"Thank you. Now," he continued, all businesslike, "I suppose I should tell you what exactly is going on. Assuming," he glanced over at him as they began walking, "that Morsus was a little vague on the details."

"He was, yes." Reses said evenly, trying not to sound enthusiastic in the least, although, in truth, he was eager to understand all the oddities he had encountered so far.

"Very well. My name is, as you know doubt guessed, Acheron of Atlantis. It is my duty to command and instruct every Dark-Hunter in the land. I presume you know what a Dark-Hunter is?"

"I do, yes." And he could only be grateful that Zarek had bothered to explain them to him.

"Very well. At the moment, we are having a bit of a problem with fighting Daimons. There is a Daimon migration going on, and they're all coming to New Orleans. I'm afraid that, without additional help, my Dark-Hunters, of which there are only a few in the city, will be overpowered. Since there is a Mardi Gras celebration coming soon, many people could be hurt if they are not protected," he finished.

Reses was startled. Daimons hurt _humans? _No wonder Morsus had thought Reses would not object to lending a hand, or, as the case may be, a sword. Having once been a human himself, he protected the race when at all possible. He glanced at the Atlantian, who was regarding him thoughtfully. The man had left something out.

"You know something else," he stated blankly. It was not a question: he knew the man was hiding something.

"Yes," he replied honestly. "But it is purely personal, and most likely will not affect you, or the others. Speaking of which," he glanced warily at him. "You will be meeting the other Dark-Hunters in the area, some of which are not very exceptive of strangers. I suggest that when you meet them, you stay close to Zarek." He stilled Reses objections with a hand. "I know you said you did not need watching over, but think of it this way. He is not protecting you: he is merely averting any trouble you may have, making sure that the others notice you are a friend of his. They are scared of him, and will not bother you. Much," he supplied, and lowered his hand.

He seemed to consider his next statement. "Also," he began hesitantly, "if, for any reason, you feel uncomfortable, or in danger, around Zarek, tell me. I will, if necessary, find you somewhere else to stay." With a flick of his hand, he held out a slip of paper with Zarek's address and directions on it.

"Thank you," he said, surprised. At Acheron's dismissive, haughty gesture, Reses smiled. Bowing his head respectfully at the Atlantian, something he hadn't done in a long time, he turned and walked away, beginning, he supposed, the first step in a long journey.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Zarek was laying on the couch in the middle of the sitting room when Reses finally arrived from his midday meeting with the Atlantian. It was just past noon, and therefore an extremely unreasonable hour for any Dark-Hunters to be up. With his eyes half closed, he listened intently for the sounds of footsteps, carefully quiet footsteps, as the man crept along the wood floors, trying not wake him. Zarek, however, had been awake for hours, and was still awake, compelled, for some strange reason, to make sure the slave made it. He couldn't explain it, and certainly didn't want to look too closely at the protective urge, and he had even tried to suppress it, curling up on the sofa with his face pressed against the cushions, and his black anti-sunlight curtains drawn. Despite how tired he was, however, he had not found sleep, and could only be relieved when Reses entered his home. Gods, he didn't think he could go another sleepless day waiting on the spider god's slave, or rather, his companion. Whatever else Reses said he was to Morsus, there was no doubt in his mind that the slave was also his lover. He wondered if Acheron was aware of that.

He felt the man pause in front of him, and reach out a hand, placing it on his shoulder. It took all his will not to spring up, and shove him away, shouting. He hated to be touched, had always hated it. Even so, he stayed still, willing him to remove his hand, not wanting to hurt him for something he hadn't known. Added to his nightmares, and his memories, would be the knowledge that he had accidentally hurt, or worse, accidentally killed the attractive man for no reason.

_What had Acheron been thinking?_

He railed silently at Acheron as he squelched another wave of pain as his cells repaired themselves at an unnatural rate. Unlike most Dark-Hunters who needed to be asleep to heal, as that was the only time Dream-Hunters could mend their wounds, Zarek had no such problems. The Dream-Hunters always stayed away from him, and wisely, for when his fury was unleashed in his dreams, people there tended to be hurt. If the Dream-Hunters had had emotions, he would have said that they were scared of him. As it was, they were cautious enough to avoid him, and he depended on good ol' Acheron to make sure he didn't suffer heedlessly. Unfortunately, Acheron was busy trying to prevent the Daimon war from spilling out onto the streets at all hours of the day and night, so Zarek was left to heal the old-fashioned, mortal way: slowly. Lucky him, he would have his wounds for a week or two more.

He felt the man shake his shoulder again, and he couldn't stop his reaction this time. He sprang up, moving quickly to the other side of the couch, and glancing at Reses almost with amusement. Great gods, amusement. Maybe this wouldn't be such a terrible fate after all.

"It's alright. I'm awake."

Reses nodded, his still unbound hair moving with the motions. He was looking at Zarek intensely, perhaps too intensely, and he seemed to be lost in thought, his golden colored eyes half closed with consideration. When he opened them completely, and tilted his head, looking Zarek square in the eyes, he tried not to react in any way. Those eyes, like pools of liquid gold…he'd never seen such eyes.

"Acheron said that if I felt…uncomfortable staying with you, or, I'm assuming, if you feel uncomfortable with it, that he would find another place for me. I am sorry if you feel I'm invading your personal space," he said calmly, watching the Greek with careful eyes. Reses clearly had no problems with eye contact, some slave he was.

Zarek nearly laughed. _Personal space?_ Zarek had never had any personal space worth mentioning, having shared a single room in the slaves' quarters with eight to ten others, and now that he was in Alaska, things weren't much better. The bigger house he had, the harder it was to stay warm, especially without the aid of sunlight. He would have smiled at him, except Zarek never smiled, having be loathe to show another his emotions. He had been weak all his life, the lowest of the low, and he certainly wasn't about to give in to that particular weakness.

"It is not that. I just…" he didn't know what to tell him. He certainly didn't want to say he was plagued by the nightmares that had been his life. God, if giving into a smile was pathetic, admitting that he screamed in his sleep would be worse. And Reses, who most likely feared nothing, would be disgusted with him. It was one way to get rid of the man, he supposed, but he had known too much disgust, in the form of a whip's lashes, to intentionally bring another's revulsion upon himself.

Reses nodded again, as though he understood perfectly. _How could he possibly began to know…_ he thought, his usual distrust of kind people rising to the service, before he remembered who he was talking to. Reses had, undoubtedly, tasted the blow of a whip as well, suffered as well. If anyone could understand besides Acheron, it was him.

"I remember my past in my sleep, okay?" After all, he didn't have to say what his past had been, and he doubted Acheron had let that little tidbit slip. "People get hurt because I lose control of my powers. Sometimes," he added, looking at the silver-haired man.

"You remember your village?" he asked mildly, not seeming to think any less of Zarek for his admission.

"Sometimes," he said evasively, not wanting to go into the memories he had of his village. Laughter. Blood. The stare of an old, dying woman who blamed him for the deaths of her family, the destruction of her village. He was supposed to protect them…and he had murdered them.

"I see. Do you mind if I ask where I am staying in this giant of a house?"

Zarek heard the distaste in his voice at the size of the house, but none whatsoever for his confession. While he agreed with him about the house, he was suspicious of the lack of contempt about the weakness he had exposed. He knew better than to trust other people: every time he did, he paid for it, in more ways than one. This knowledge, combined with the assault of memories, caused his reply to come out harsher than he intended.

"Pick a room, any room. I could care less where you sleep." _Slave,_ he was tempted to add, but his mouth tasted sour at the thought. No, not that word, never that word. Nobody deserved to be called that. Nobody deserved the pain it could cause, had caused for Zarek once. And still caused.

Reses rose one thin, silver eyebrow, looking at Zarek sharply.

"Very well. Which one is your room, Greek, so that I do not unintentionally invade your lair?" he asked mildly.

The way he said _Greek _and _lair_ shamed Zarek, making him sound more animal than man, and for a brief moment, he was tempted to apologize. The thought stopped the words cold. _Apologize._ He was starting to sound weak, like a woman, and he realized that he had been treating the slave with more kindness than he usually treated even Acheron. _Fuck that, _he thought silently, and he glared fiercely at Reses again, causing him to raise that damn, haughty eyebrow again.

"The only one with a bag in it, genius. We leave to meet the others as soon as night falls," he all but snarled, and watched as the slender man stood with all the dignity of a noble, towering over him in his position on the futon.

"Very well. I will see you at nightfall, then. Master," he added, his voice cool with anger as he left the room, and Zarek winced, cursing his rash actions as he leaned back, and his superior hearing picked up the soft sound of a door clicking shut, barely audible, even for him. He closed his eyes tightly, g rolling back to face the couch again, guilt flooding him for the first time in nearly 900 years. Why didn't he slam the door? If someone had talked that way to Zarek, he would have slammed the door, would have thrown things, and made a horrible scene. In fact, he probably would have slammed his fist into the face of the man who had said it. But, oh no, not Reses. Where ever he had gone, whatever he had done, Reses had picked up a great deal more control than Zarek had. Or perhaps he simply feared the consequences of such an action. When Zarek had been a slave, he had feared everything, man or woman, and he was still trying to live that down. Now, he had probably added to the man's general opinion of the human race, and most especially his _masters._ God, he hated that word, and he knew it burned Reses to call him that as much as it did for him to hear it.

He sighed, and prepared himself for another restless day. He would apologize to Reses when he woke up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello my pretties! This is the first time I have ever, or will ever, talk to you in the middle of my fanfic! So here is the BIG STATEMENT:I own nothing, know nothing, am nothing…you get the idea. Anything I ever write about is based on the work of somebody else.**

**Oh, and just for this, I realize that up until now Zarek had been acting fairly OOC…well, he has to. None of this would ever happen if I didn't change a few things and, hello, it is a fanfic! A lot of things I made up (including a couple of main characters, but, if you ask me, they really should exist.) On to the Dark-Hunter goodness!**

**Chapter 4**

_"Reses! Make them stop! Please Reses, please help me!" He vaguely heard the sound of his sister Maja, his beautiful silver-haired sister, screaming for his help over the sounds of the whips. Could smell the fear upon her as the scent of blood clouded the air, sickening him. He was not a warrior, even though his father wanted him to be. He hated the smell of blood. But worse, he hated that he couldn't help his sister, couldn't even break free of the repulsive men holding him. He heard her shrieks of terror, her yelps of pain, and he knew he had to try._

_"Wait! Stop it! Leave her alone!" he yelled, throwing his young body against his captors with all his might. To his surprise, they gave a quick gasp of astonishment and fell to the ground, pulling him with them. He wasted no time, picking himself up from the ground of his homeland and running towards his sister, flying headfirst into the man holding her, while another brought his whip across his back. He felt none of it, not the sting of pain, nor did he hear the hiss of the whip. He thought only of getting his sister to freedom, even if it cost him his life. He watched with a hopeless kind of joy as she took off towards the hills, and away from the madness. He thought only of giving her enough time to escape, and flung himself into the forming fight with a vigor he had never expressed before. He didn't expect to win, only to stall them long enough for Maja to get far, far away._

_When the brawl ended, he stood tall and proud with two men at each arm trying to push him to the ground. One of them backhanded him across his youthful face, and another held a knife at his throat as a man with thick hair, dark with dirt, approached them. He stopped a few feet in front of them, and, even then, he could smell the man's repulsive stench. But, he did not back away, did not shrink or cringe. The man smiled at his open defiance, and grabbed his chin in a huge, scarred hand._

_"Strong, are you? And quite pretty, as well." He held up a hand, halting the man lifting his whip to strike him. Reses did not think for once that this was a rescue, and he was proven right moments later._

_"Your sister has already been found, boy. All you did was cause the both of you a lot of pain for your insolence," he said with a sneer on his ugly face, scarred with the disfigurements of battle. But what caught his attention more than the man's hideous face, was his cruel smile, and the smell of evil coming from him in waves. He squirmed uselessly, trying to get away, to get to Maja, because he had the feeling that, if he didn't, he would never see her again. The man laughed meanly, and released his chin._

_"Punish him severely, but do not mark his skin, or his face, then bring him to me. I believe I have found a way to appease our commander," he said, looking into Reses' golden orbs for a long moment before turning and walking away. The men holding him laughed as they pushed and pulled him towards the same circle of men his sister had stood inside, but he didn't feel any fear, until one of them, one of the cruel, heartless warriors, looked at him with pity. Whatever his fate, it must be far worse than he could ever imagine…_

Reses jolted up from the bed, his eyes connecting with darkness and his mind filling with panic before he remembered where he was: at Zarek's not-so-humble abode. Not a few thousand years ago, awaiting a fate that even years of learning had not prepared him for. Eternal slavery. Gods, if he had known this was his fate, he would have killed himself years before he had received ambrosia. Gods knew he had had enough chances.

With a sigh, he rubbed his hands across his eyes, trying to adjust his eyes to the unfamiliar darkness. He never slept during the day, and it would take some adjustment to do so regularly, but exhaustion had compelled him to ignore the light that bathed him, and he had drifted into a restless, haunted sleep. He couldn't remember most of the dreams, but he remembered the last one. That particular dream, or memory, rather, disturbed him every night. He didn't know why, since he had many worse memories to haunt him, even though it had been the last time he saw Maja, as he had known it would be.

He sighed again, and pushed himself up from his bed, an obscenely soft mattress in a sturdy oak frame that had called to him, even though he rarely indulged in the pleasures of furniture of any kind. He was hesitant to become used to the comforts, as, if Morsus ever became angry enough at him, which he surely would, he would lose them. Things were easier to lose, he knew, if you didn't care too much for them.

He reached for his discarded shirt, then thought better of it, and reached for a fresh black one as the door was pushed open softly, and the Greek walked in. He seemed surprised that Reses was up, but he didn't sneer, as he had thought he would. Instead, he rose an eyebrow at Reses bare chest, the look on his face showing something between annoyance, and something that seemed like anxiety. _That is ridiculous,_ he thought as he tugged the shirt over his head. He doubted the Greek had ever been anxious about anything.

"Reses," he said coolly once he had pulled his arms through his black coat.

"Master," he responded just as indifferently, even though it stung to say it. Whatever feelings of comradeship he had had before were long gone. While he was disappointed to see it, he accepted it as normal. It had to happen eventually.

To his surprise, Zarek flinched, and looked away, ashamed.

"I deserved that, I suppose. Reses, I…" It seemed to take all of his will power to finish that sentence.

"I am _sorry_. I lost my temper yesterday, and it really had nothing to do with you. I apologize. And I would like you to call me Zarek, if you don't mind."

Reses was speechless. Nobody, _nobody_, had ever apologized to him before. Ever. Especially not of their own free will. When he had still been mortal, even his own family had been reluctant to act apologetic. And this Greek, who's snapping remarks barely even registered when compared to the comments that were usually made about his station, or his person, had felt so guilty that he had brought himself to apologize to someone lower than him. Reses felt a smile tug at his lips. The man continued to surprise him.

"Apology accepted. And I don't mind calling you by your name."

Zarek let out a whoosh of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He didn't know why it was so important to him that Reses forgive him, considering that he was likely to piss him off again in a matter of minutes. But, for whatever reason, he didn't like the slave being angry with him, and saying "master" in that cold voice that made it sound like a curse. He couldn't explain it, and he pushed it aside, nodding shortly at Reses, who was almost smiling at him now.

"Thank you. Acheron wanted us to be in the rendezvous point at midnight to become acquainted with the others who will be fighting alongside us, and we will have to leave within the hour to be on time. I will meet you downstairs," he said, and he turned on his heel, sauntering down the stairs, thinking about…things. Mainly Reses, and the things his keen observation skills had picked up. His shirt, for one thing. While he didn't particularly want to think about how he had looked without one, with his porcelain pale chest and graceful build, he couldn't help but think about the man's mannerisms, and dressing happened to be one of them. He had pulled on his clothes quickly, but not in an embarrassed way. It seemed he simply didn't want Zarek to see him in a half-naked state, and, while he excepted that fact, he couldn't understand why. He had also picked the smallest room in the house, seeming to desire to be crammed into as little space as possible. A curious habit, but also acceptable. But what caught his attention the most, however, was the fact that the man had seemed hesitant to smile, and had worn a look of pure shock after he had apologized to him. Hadn't anyone ever apologized to him before?

He considered that as he continued down the steps. He paused on the bottom step, his hand resting on the polished wooden railing as that…odd feeling of unease came over him. He glanced at the oak under his hands. Such a fine thing, this house…and yet he wanted none of it, wanted desperately to be in his shack in Alaska, anywhere else but here. He couldn't shake the feeling that to continue to be anywhere near New Orleans at this time would be destructive to his well being, and he should be running for the hills right now. Of course, he couldn't leave: he had a job to do, people to protect, and, most of all, he had to make sure Reses helped Acheron. Since the man would only listen to him, however unfair that may seem, he had to be here.

_Still,_ _I wonder if I could get out of it. Maybe if I… _He wondered idly, before he shook his head, laughing softly as he pulled on his jacket. He had never asked for time off from Acheron. NeverIt seemed ridiculous that he would do so now simply because he was feeling unstable, feeling a chill up his spine whenever he thought about the upcoming week. Almost as if he felt he'd never be the same afterwards.

_That is so stupid,_ he thought harshly. If he was feeling any chills, it was probably due to the Daimon auras floating around. The only change that he would have anything to due with this week was causing a sudden shortage of soul-suckers in the world.

As far as everything else was concerned…he would keep his mouth shut and leave the damn politics to Acheron.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Reses sighed as he pulled on the finely made black duster, watching in astonishment as the Greek left without another word. Now, that he hadn't expected. The man had seemed at a loss for what to say, and, although he found the prospect strange, he had to consider what his eyes and mind were telling him. Did he make Zarek uncomfortable?

As he made his way down the gleaming stairway, he watched the Greek's back, wide of shoulder and slim in his leather jacket. He saw the instant the man sensed his approach, the second he heard his footsteps fall on the wooden surface of the ground floor. His back tensed, he stood straighter, and he turned, a wary look in his eyes.

The sight nearly made Reses laugh. Nobody had ever looked at him like that outside of one of his limited battles. He was a _slave_, for Gods' sake. And this Greek, for some unknown reason, seemed to view him as a threat. The thought sobered him. That in itself was nothing new, having, in his lifetime, known many jealous lovers, husbands…and wives, for that matter. He lowered his gaze, trying to look humble, and unthreatening, for perhaps the first time in his existence. He didn't want to lose the odd sort of informality that had sprang up between him and the Greek…Zarek. Didn't want to have to say "master" every time he was spoken to, or bow, or anything he always did to his other masters. He waited for Zarek to say something, anything, but he simply nodded at him once, and headed out the door. Reses silently followed him, and once more they entered the black Honda.

The drive towards "the rendezvous point" was quiet. Both men pretended not to notice, neither one making any true attempts at conversation other than the occasional comment about simple, inane things. The silence was thick, making both men tense and shift, and nearly fly from the car when it stopped in the same dirty alley they had visited when they first arrived. The only differences now, Reses supposed, was that it was filled with several unknown men as well as the Atlantian, and that now darkness surrounded them, every streetlight in the area either broken or shorted. Of course, since Dark-Hunters wouldn't like the light, it was a perfect place to meet these creatures who had once been human.

Reses watched as Zarek strode towards the Atlantian, speaking to him in a soft, forceful tone while Reses hung back, hesitant to show himself. Zarek had been remarkably accepting of his appearance, but he didn't dare hope that the others would be so understanding to his predicament. He was sure that all of the men would respond in one of two ways: either automatic hatred or jealousy, or worse, a desire for his body, willing or no. Although he hated to spoil his here-to good mood by being bombarded with those two expressions, the same on every face, he didn't see any way to avoid it, especially since Zarek was staring intently into the corner where he had hidden himself. The way he was looking at the area of darkness made Reses suspect that he could see him, and understood his uncertain attitude. A ghost of a reassuring smile was on his face, in his eyes, and it pacified Reses. Briefly. It was, however, long enough to give him back the courage he normally had in bundles, long enough to cause him to step outside of the safe shadows of the car.

The result was, as he had expected, a look of surprise, and a mixture of resentment and mistrust passed along all of their faces, especially on one certain face. The dark-haired man was wearing a coat of expensive cashmere, and an expression of amusement on his sneering face. He looked, much to Reses' surprise, remarkably similar to Zarek, down to the height, and even the shape of his face. However, this man stank of something calculating and cruel, whereas Zarek did not. _They can't be related…can they?_ He wondered, then shook that thought off as ridiculous. Dark-Hunters, to his knowledge, didn't have any living relatives.

"Well, well, well. It's a fine day indeed when we are depending on a pretty boy to save our skins," snickered Valerius, Zarek's older brother laughing to himself while looking casually away from Reses, as though he wasn't even there. Another insult, Zarek knew. It was not aimed at Reses, however. Rather, it was aimed at _him_,a test from a clever man to see whether he had found another of Zarek's weaknesses. He had to will himself not to react, not to immediately jump to Reses' defense or respond rashly, even though he desperately wanted to thump the Roman across the back of his head. He shrugged, and looked around at the faces of the others, some he knew and some he didn't. They all wore similar expressions of amusement, distrust, and…anger? He would have scowled at all of them, but he felt Acheron's warning frown, and refrained. Was simply knowing him enough to label Reses a hated individual? He wanted to snap at the other men, tell them to not judge a man by who he knows, or how he looks. Those wise words, he knew, would have fallen on deaf ears, as they always had. Everybody judged by appearance, he knew, no matter what they said otherwise. Shallow bastards.

He turned to glance sidelong at Reses, and noticed the empty expression on his face. Even though he hid it well, Zarek could feel the resigned dismay shimmering around him, almost as if he had expected such reactions from men, even such well-known and admired men as the Dark-Hunters. He let a shrug roll over his shoulders, a disinterested expression forced on his face. He'd be damned if Reses suffered simply because he was moderately kind to Zarek, if he let the one person who treated him with something approaching friendliness be put through hell. He would rather go under the lashes once again than let an innocent being pay for mistakes he had made, and he would fix this, solve this. Even if Reses didn't know he was doing it. Even if Reses came to hate him for it.

"Isn't it?" he responded mildly, tilting his head. He felt Reses' eyes on him in surprise. "But then, you're hear, aren't you?"

As he had known he would, Valerius reddened, his eyes flashing. _Green-boy,_ Zarek thought, amused. Even though Valerius was older than him in years, he still hadn't learned to control himself, and his emotions, as well as Zarek.

"What are you trying to say, Zarek? That this pretty-boy and me are…alike?" The disgust with which he said it didn't give any complements to Reses, but he forced himself to continue on, knowing that any friendship they had developed would crumble with his next statement.

He didn't say what he truly wanted to say, which would have been something like _no, I have known Reses much less time than I have known you, and I like him ten times more. _Instead, he responded differently, his cool tone belaying the harsh words that poured from his mouth.

"Of course you are. One worthless, pretty face to another."

He expected the Roman's fury, but not in such a way. He was unprepared for the jolt of another body slamming into his, and the fierce slash of pain as the Roman landed a quick blow to his ribs, and plunged a hidden knife into his side. Schooled in hiding pain, he didn't cry out as he wanted to. Didn't so much as whimper as the knife plunged a second time, before the Roman was yanked off of him. He felt the blood pooling in his midsection, the rich color dying the black of his shirt and jacket, and he blinked into the darkness, squinting to see the face of the man who had interfered.

He was surprised, if not completely, to see Reses standing above him. Even though his face was as blank as ever, Zarek could all but taste the fury he was feeling. _Sorry,_ he thought sadly, disappointed that he had to pretend distaste for the attractive slave to insure that he did not have any problems with the others. It made him feel guilty, and cruel, to treat a fellow slave like that, taking away the one alliance the man thought he had.

_Oh well._ He thought resignedly as the slave pulled him unceremoniously to his feet, then let go almost immediately. He hid his shock that, even for a brief second, Reses had helped him even though he was angry at him. He tried to hope that the man might forgive him, and Zarek might actually make a friend, as with one look at the man's stony-set face was enough to quash these foolish thoughts. Even as he brushed himself off, he noticed the other men eying Reses warily, and Zarek looked at the other man for a clue as to why. However, one look at the battered Roman lying perfectly still in the alley prevented him from having to wonder for too long. Was Valerius dead? But no, seconds later the man moved, groaning a little as he propped himself up on his elbows, looking at Reses with an expression of disbelief. Besides the fact that someone had actually helped Zarek, the silver-haired man had practically thrown a full-grown man across an alley with one hand, as though he was nothing more than a fly. With a cool, calm voice, Reses spoke, his eyes on the Roman, but Zarek knew those words were meant for him as well.

"If you believe I am simply a 'pretty boy,' then you are sadly mistaken. I would recommend you not make me angry enough to find out just how mistaken you are." He leveled one last glare at all of them except Zarek, who he tilted his head at in a mockingly respectful manner, before he turned and walked away.

"Well," said Acheron with mild cheer, causing everyone to turn to look at him. "That, if you couldn't tell, was Reses, a friend of Morsus' who has offered to assist us. For the time being, he is staying with Zarek, as no other room is available at this time. I would suggest that you stay well away from the man when not preparing to do battle, else you might, er, _upset_, Morsus who, if you don't mind me saying so, would gladly rip out your heart and feed it to you."

_Very tactful,_ Zarek thought, shaking his head though it hurt to even breathe. He was sure that that statement would only increase the men's curiosity, and, undoubtedly, it sounded like a challenge to Valerius, and he never backed down from a challenge. _Fucking perfect,_ he thought. Just what he needed: to have to protect the man from even more threats now. _Although…_ the man seemed much stronger than Zarek had originally thought him to be, as well as much more resilient. He hadn't blinked an eye at Zarek's cruel comment, or Valerius.' It was fairly likely that the man wouldn't need his help at all, and that thought bothered him. He didn't know why, but he wanted Reses to need his support, and his protection. His village had needed it, and he hadn't been able to give it to them. Reses, however, was new to Dark-Hunter customs, and would be lost with most of their references, and techniques for dealing with Daimons, and, damn it, he would need help, but he doubted the man would accept it from him now. He narrowed his eyes in thought, an idea coming to him. Could he perhaps help Reses adjust without seeming to, while seeming to be cruel? The man would only be around for a week, starting tonight, and he wouldn't have time to adjust on his own.

_Hmmm…sounds like a challenge,_ he thought, glancing at the annoyed man standing by the black car, practically glowing in the light of the quarter moon. It would take hard work, and loads of determination to succeed in this scheme of his, but he was used to both. He had been the main whipping boy of his own half-brothers, and he had survived, one day at a time, willing his broken body and mind to go on. He would do so now, resisting the urge to apologize every time he insulted the man, and seeming to be his regular, obnoxious self, while secretly making sure that Reses didn't get into trouble…of any kind. His subtle interference would go unnoticed and, while it may hurt the man's opinion of Dark-Hunters, and humans in general to act so harshly, it had to be done. And it had to be done without the man's slave instincts kicking in, without making him feel small and foolish.

This was going to be one interesting week.

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**And now…the MEGA RESPONSE.**

**Of course, this is too **Rae Roberts**, who actually bothers to review. I love you so much for commenting on my work.**

**Chapter 1- Thank you for enjoying this, and you're welcome! As far as reading the whole series, you'll do it eventually. Warning: I do not recommend Seize the Night. It's an okay book and all, but it makes me so sad. If you read it or I write a fanfic about the new Dark-Hunter in that book, you'll see what I mean. **

**Chapter 2- Yes, Reses is an original character, but (I said it once, so I'll say it again) he really should exist, if you ask me. I was kind of annoyed that the rule was a Dark-Hunter had to fall in love with a _woman_ to be released, so I made Reses. Isn't he great?**

**Chapter 3-Thank you again.**

**Chapter 4-They do have a lot in common, so I hope their upcoming relationship works out (you never know.) In case you didn't notice in this chapter, he's going to act like his cantankerous self again, but we all know there are good intentions behind the way he acts, either because of the way he feels or because he doesn't like intimacy (yet another reason we love him.) While what he said was kind of a low blow, it was all for the best.**

**Thank you so much for reviewing!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

They saw their first Daimons later on that evening, stalking an unsuspecting tourist who was merrily enjoying the pre-Mardi Gras preparations. Clad in the classic tourist getup of socks, sandals, and a rather loud tee-shirt, he had no idea that he was any danger at all, not even when the unsuspecting Daimon was hurled into an alley nearby by Zarek, with Reses following close behind, silent as the grave. Or at least that's what he assumed, since Zarek himself hadn't seen a grave in nearly 2,000 years. He hadn't said a word since Zarek's rather derogatory comments about his appearance, and, truth was, he himself believed he had been a little harsh, but then, he had also been talking to Valerius at the time. Whatever it was, Zarek suspected that the man had to force himself not to shout at him, as he could all but sense the fury he must be feeling. To keep the man from detesting him any further, he stayed silent for most of the night, until a well-aimed blow from a somewhat-talented warrior Daimon struck him just above his earlier wounds. While Reses obediently pulled the man off of him and plunged his own small blade into the ink blot on his chest, Zarek was feeling kind of annoyed that it had taken him so long to help.

"Where the hell were you on that one?" he asked angrily, batting away the hand that Reses seemed obligated to lend him whenever he ended up on the ground.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to be so slow, Master," he said in an emotionless voice. Zarek had already given up on correcting him: so far his attempts to stop the "masters" from being said had done absolutely nothing. While it pained him to admit it, Reses obviously no longer believed he meant anything he said. That concept made Zarek even angrier: never in his life had he been a liar. Call him all matter of names and he didn't mind, but 'liar' wasn't one of them.

"I am not a liar, Reses, so stop acting like I am," he hissed. To the slave, he probably made little sense. After all, Reses hadn't exactly said he was one: Zarek said it mainly to get the man to say something other than his 'slave lines.'

"I am sorry. I did not mean to offend, Master."

Zarek growled, and threw his hands up in the air in defeat.

"You're sorry, you did not mean to offend, you did not mean to be slow," he mimicked mockingly. "What the hell do you mean, then, if not that?"

He looked back at Reses, but his pretty golden eyes were as blank, as cold, as ever. It was like an emotional switch had been turned off, and now his emotions were a mystery.

"I am a slave. I mean nothing," he responded, and something clicked in his eyes briefly. Zarek certainly didn't expect him to say _that_, but obviously he had been told it time enough to start believing it. Zarek had been told it too, but in his case it wasn't just something he had been told. It was the truth, no matter which way you looked at it. Some way or another, he was always useless when someone needed something. Only recently had he begun to think that they weren't as right as they thought, and even that took some serious encouragement. If he remembered correctly, Acheron said it unbalanced the person's perspective to be made feel worthless. Despite his promise to be as biting as possible, he wasn't about to confirm that.

"Reses, you are not nothing. That is simply a slave tool used to make you feel submissive. It takes years to stop believing it, so please, don't even start. I'm assuming this came from those bastards before me, correct?" He asked mildly, examining the numerous holes in his shirt, and feeling for the wounds beneath. Damn it, but with that Daimon's injury to add to the Valerius' various attempts at killing him, his entire chest was riddled with puncture wounds, and the need to constantly rest was starting to get on his nerves. Some immortal he was: the entire fight would have been over a lot quicker if those damn Dream-Hunters would just _help him_. Just once. Was that so much to ask?

He was so caught up in muttering expletives that he didn't notice Reses frowning at him.

"Yes. You speak as if you know something about being a slave. Master," he added, almost as though he had forgotten. That, Zarek supposed, was some progress. It was a shame that he wasn't about to talk about how he knew this; it probably would have made more progress towards Reses actually acting like a human being, instead of a tortured animal.

"Some. But I tend to know more about mental disorders," he said, not looking up, trying to find a way to overlap the shreds of cloth at his side to staunch the bleeding gash. That wasn't exactly a lie: Zarek, as a justified homicidal maniac, tended to understand the insane a bit better than others. If he had been born to this time, he probably would have become a psychologist, he supposed. Sadly, he hadn't.

With a sigh Reses watched Zarek struggle to cover his wounds. From what Reses could see while he stood, there were many of them, some of them angry and red in addition to the ones the other Dark-Hunter, Valerius, had given him. But, although Reses was sure he was in a lot of pain, he didn't say a word, either to complain or to ask for his help. Even though he was still somewhat angry at the Dark-Hunter for his belittling comments on his appearance, he knew that they most likely hadn't been intended to hurt his feelings, but rather to insult the other Hunter. His assumptions were reassured every time he called him 'master-' no matter how hard he must have tried to hide his emotions, his eyes would turn sad and guilty for a moment, then return to their usual blankness. He wanted to ask what was the matter, but since Zarek was such a hot and cold person, he wasn't sure what sort of reaction he would get. He watched as the man continued to make vain attempts at making the obviously serious wounds appear less apparent, and gave another resigned sigh. Regardless of how he felt about Zarek at the moment, it went against his nature to watch someone have trouble and not to lend help. His parents had raised him better than that. He wasn't surprised when he heard his own hesitant voice offering assistance.

"I could help you with that, if you like. I am proficient at healing." An understatement, but oh well.

Zarek let out a laugh, but there was no malice in it.

"Finally, some self-acknowledgement." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he let out a sigh.

"But, yes, if you can make these go away some, I would appreciate it." Reses couldn't believe those words had passed Zarek's lips, but he hid his astonishment behind a casual shrug. If the Greek would accept his help, he was willing to give it.

"Alright. Stand still for a moment, please," he said, and he walked forward to crouch next to the Greek and look at the assortment of gashes located near his side and, like he had suspected, many were infected. Those ones he couldn't rightfully touch without purging them of contamination first, other wise he might be sealing in the infection, and he doubted Zarek would appreciate that. So, purging it was.

"No matter how this feels, don't move, please." To make sure his words were carried out, he held Zarek's hips still, the action momentarily making him forget what he was doing. The man had really nice hips…

He shook his head at the thought, and continued what he was doing. He hadn't healed anyone for centuries, and he was afraid he was a little out of practice, but since he didn't have to dissolve anything, he was sure it wouldn't matter. Concentrating hard on the layers of damage, he sealed each wound. He was careful not to make it any stronger than it should be, stopping when he got the flesh back to what he could only assume was its natural state on Zarek's body. While the infected areas gave him a bit of trouble, the wounds themselves were soon completed. Amazingly, Zarek hadn't moved during the entire painful process.

When he opened his eyes, all that was in front of him was smooth flesh and the tiniest of scratches left from the deepest of the wounds.

Resisting the urge to completely heal the scratch, not wanting to go too far and lose control of his healing, he stood again, brushing the knees of his pants where he had kneeled in the dirty alley. He didn't look at Zarek; instead concentrated on separating his consciousness from Zarek's body composition, fold by fold. He was aware that Zarek pressed a hand against the nearly disappeared wounds, and the shock he was feeling blended with the flow of his blood through the fresh skin. With a yank, Reses pulled his mind out of the Greek's now-living cells, and breathed a heaving sigh. It had been so long since he had actually done something like that…he had almost forgotten how. He repressed the absurd urge to thank him for letting him heal him, because that would have been beyond pathetic.

Zarek felt the barely noticeable mark on his side, amazed when he found that the ragged tissue that had been there before had been put back in its place during the painful process. How had Reses done such a thing? While Reses procedure had been much more painful than Acheron's, the Atlantian was the only other person he knew who could heal in such a way, merely by concentrating on the area. He wasn't sure if any of the other Dark-Hunters possessed this particular gift, as they tended to avoid him, but he doubted it. He had wondered about it once, and it seemed to be a trait only Atlantians shared. He remembered that Morsus was an Atlantian god: perhaps he had enslaved Reses before Atlantis had gone under. That would certainly explain why he seemed to have so much in common with Acheron, from the unnatural strength and appearance to his healing powers.

"Reses," he inquired curiously. "Are you an Atlantian?"

Reses looked at him oddly.

"Not exactly. I'm a Doscian."

"A what?" he asked, surprised. That particular term was unfamiliar to him.

"A Doscian. Born on the island of Doscia, which was just South of Atlantis. Slightly less showy than the Atlantians, and fairly peaceful, so we weren't a commonly known group of people. People who claimed to find Atlantis after it sunk were most likely seeing us. Of course, Doscia sunk soon after…er, well, soon after I left," he said hesitantly, running his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture. Obviously, he hadn't meant to say that much about himself, probably expecting Zarek to yell at him for being so chatty. Zarek shrugged. They would get into that later.

"That's quite interesting. Anyway…thank you for healing me. I have never met another who could do that." His back stiffened. "But we don't have time to stop now. Come daylight, you'll be on you own, so we have to move quickly."

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**Two chapters in one day…what an achievement. If this chapter doesn't make sense, I apologize. I typed it up while I was kind of up in the clouds from cough syrup. Hope you enjoyed.**


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